Starting Place
by FusseKat
Summary: A post-Purgatory story in the aftermath of a stakeout gone horribly wrong when Goren is injured in an explosion. The Goren/Eames partnership is still a little rocky. One-shot.


I guess this is a post-Purgatory story in the aftermath of a stakeout gone horribly wrong. The Goren/Eames partnership is still a little rocky. I started this awhile ago, early in Season 7 - before Untethered or Purgatory and before Goren started dressing down regularly. I really like that part, so I left that part of the story intact. Rewrote part of it to reflect that post-Purgatory uneasiness between the partners.

As always, my thanks to Dick Wolf for the characters.

* * *

**Starting Place**

He shuffled up the stairs that led to his apartment. Some days he wished there was someone waiting to welcome him home. To rush to the door and welcome him when he crawled home on a day like today.

_If wishes were horses then beggars would ride. _The old saying popped into his head. He had heard it once as a child and, as with all things, filed it away should he need it one day. He was not sure that today was that day, but there it was.

He closed the door behind him and flicked on the lights. Painfully shrugging out of his coat, he crossed the hallway to hang it on the door. He needed a bath -- a boiling hot, lobster-cooking hot bath -- but he knew that if he climbed into his tub he would never be able to get out. He didn't think Eames, Ross, or his landlord would be pleased to find his water-shriveled body in the morning. It would have to be a shower.

He made his way slowly, over to the bathroom and to the shower. At least the shower was a walk-in one and not climb-in shower. He didn't think that he could cope with that at the moment. His back could not cope with that, to be more honest.

It felt as if it took an eternity to pull his sweatshirt up and over his head. The pulled and batter muscles in his back and shoulders protested his every movement. When he finally finished he was sweating with pain and panting. He could see snow swirling in the darkness … even though he was no where near a window. Reaching out for the countertop he steadied himself. He natural curiosity didn't include finding how painful it would be to fall onto the cold ceramic tile of his bathroom floor.

When he could think clearly again, he opened his eyes and sat down on the closed toilet seat. This was going to be the killer. This was going to hurt worse than even his back.

He had to get his jeans off - jeans that were completely ruined, caked in both mud and blood, singed from the cinders of flying debris - that for some reason seemed to delight the nurses' at the hospital - much to Eames' amusement. All she would say when he asked her why was, "It's a girl thing." He didn't feel up to pursuing or speculating about what Eames meant with _that_ comment.

As the jeans came free, they took the freshly forming scabs off the many cuts and lacerations with them. There were too many scattered over his legs for them all to be bandaged. Only the most serious cuts and burns – on his back – had been bandaged. He hissed in pain and viciously flung the jeans to the floor, letting them lie where they fell.

As slowly as an eighty-year-old man, he stood and shuffled to the shower and turned on the water. He sighed in relief as the scalding hot water hit his aching muscles, followed by a sharp intake of breath as the water stung his open wounds.

How could the day have gone so wrong? It had started out perfectly, it started out with such promise. When was it he really had the chance to go to work in jeans? Today had been that day. No suit, no tie, just jeans and sweat shirt, and all because they were undercover, trying to look inconspicuous.

The mid-January weather had turned from being cold to snowing while they waited for the meet to take place. It hadn't helped that their suspect had been late and panicky, convinced he was being followed, which of course he was.

The meet had finally taken place - nearly an hour after the agreed upon time - between their informant and the suspected human trafficker and seemed to be going well. There were three undercover teams in place, the first team was Ross and an ESU Leiutenant, Casey Michaels coordinating all tactical aspects. Goren and Eames made up one of the other teams, the remaining team made up of two ESU officers in full gear, in case things turned bad. All three teams also included a camera filming and recording the event from different angles, hoping to pick up any non verbal communication between the two- until the scene in front of them had literally blown up in their faces. Goren and Eames had been watching across a narrow alley way between two warehouses opposite the men. In the single beat of a heart, a bright hot blast of heat and both the informant and suspect were engulfed in the fireball explosion of the warehouse they were standing in front of.

Eames and he had been close enough to catch part of the blast. Bobby saw the flames before he heard the explosion and was already moving, throwing Eames down to the ground and covering her to keep her from harm. His own back, legs and left side had taken the most hits from flying shrapnel and debris of the blast. Eames had been shocked but unharmed - not shocked enough not to start to rip into him for his stunt - until she had realized that he had been hurt and then she was then calling for help. Ignoring the fact that he told her he was fine, she had called in that there was a man down. Maybe she was having as difficult time hearing as he was. It wasn't until she turned him over that he could see her lips moving that he knew she was talking, yelling at him. He had to admit she was technically correct. He couldn't get up. _Help I've fallen and I can't get up._

By the time he could speak and the ringing his ears had subsided to a low buzzing, everyone on the stakeout had surrounded him. Ross was on the phone with the Chief of D's, updating him on the situation. Once freed from the Chief's call Ross had leaned down and told him gently to get himself checked out and they would talk later.

Later would have to be on Monday. He only had the weekend to get through… a weekend of pain and worry, as he fully expected to receive the lion's share of the blame for what had gone wrong. It was his and Eames' case, his informant. The Chief of D's was going to love this. He was probably rubbing his hand together in glee and devising a new and hideous assignment for him. This wasn't even his fault. Who could have foreseen the building exploding?

God he hurt. Hurt more than he would have thought possible. The doctor had given him some pain meds to bring home but had warned him that he needed to eat before he took them. That was a pain in more sense than one, since he didn't feel up to getting food cooked, not even up to fixing a sandwich. Perhaps when he had dried off and rested for a bit, he would feel more like it.

The hot water turning cold brought him back to the present and he turned it off. He thanked providence that he had placed a couple of towels on the towel rail to heat. They were warm and welcome.

By the time he was dry all he had the strength to do was shuffle to the bed and crawl under the warm covers. He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

After Goren had been released from the hospital she'd gone back downtown to check in with Ross and the rest of the team. She had been driving home from the office when she decided she should check on Bobby to make sure he really was all right. Alex stepped out of the warmth of her car. She had been furious when he threw her down to the ground and then landed on her, furious that he had so little self-preservation instinct or confidence in hers. She was in the middle of telling him that when she realized that he was too still, too quiet. Bobby Goren should be up and demanding to know what had gone wrong, wanting answers and not lying still and unmoving over her as he was. It was then she realized that she something warm and wet was beginning to seep under her palms.

"Bobby?" When she didn't get an answer, heart leapt up into her throat. She slid out from under him and rolled him over. He was breathing but barely conscious. The blood loss seemed to be from many wounds and not one massive wound. She thought that was probably a good sign.

Reaching for her radio, she yelled into it, "Officer down... officer down." Even as she did, she saw several officers racing towards them. In the distance she heard the approaching shrill of an ambulance - or was it just her imagination. Ross had arrived, looking concerned and then relieved that both his detective were still alive. Ross told her that the ambulance would be their soon _(so she really did hear it)_. Ross leaned over Bobby, telling him to get himself checked out and they'd talk later. _Couldn't the man see it was going to require more than a simple get yourself checked out... _

She had heard and recognized the uncertainty that filled Bobby when Captain Ross told him they would meet on Monday to report to the Chief about today's events. _Couldn't talk of meeting with the Chief wait until Bobby had at least followed the Captain's suggestion to get himself checked out..._

She had been surprised that the hospital would release him to go home alone, but they had. _Managed care, my eye. If you can 'manage' to walk out of the hospital, you're well enough to 'care' for yourself._ This was why she had decided to stop in to check on him, to see with her own two eyes that he was all right.

She knocked gently. When there was no answer, she pulled out the key he had given her so that she could get in if the need ever arose. She felt the occasion called for it. He had hers keys too. Just in case. The apartment was silent, the living area, den and kitchen in darkness. She followed the hallway around to where it led to the bathroom and bedroom.

The bedroom was in darkness and a light shone from the bathroom. Sitting alone and forlorn on the wood tiled floor were the jeans that Bobby had worn to work that morning. They were ruined and it said a lot for how Bobby was feeling that they had been left where he had dropped them.

Bobby was normally meticulous in his habits; he hated mess. With him, everything had a place and each place was kept as neat as possible even with hundreds of little post-its hanging from the edges of papers and folders and pages from staggering pile of books. His kitchen was one of the best stocked that she had ever seen; his bathroom, almost sterile.

So to see the jeans lying on the floor spoke volumes. If he were in the bathroom, the last thing she wanted was to embarrass him, so she softly called out, "Bobby?"

She entered when no answering call came, bending to pick up the jeans. They really were quite ruined, which was such a shame since they'd looked so good in them, and with the black sweatshirt... She stopped herself, this was her partner, her friend - not some... well judging from the comments from the nurses in the emergency room she wasn't the only one who'd noticed and maybe it really was merely what she'd told Bobby when he'd asked about all the whispering, _'It's just a girl thing'_. Perhaps she could sneak them out and replace them for him...

There was fresh blood drying on the floor, she realized with a flash of fear. A towel lay forgotten on the toilet seat. She checked the shower in case, even though she knew it was empty. She placed the soiled, bloodstained towel in the laundry basket. Turning out the light she walked into the bedroom. She just needed to see him, just needed to see that he was still in one piece.

She quietly opened the door and entered. The light from the hallway was enough for her to see in. Not that there was that much to see, just a Bobby-sized lump under the bedding. As she watched, he turned his head and nuzzled into the pillow. His normally curly hair was even more so than usual and stuck out at all angles in stark relief against the white of his pillow.

She moved in to sit beside him on the bed. She had never known anyone like him before, so good at what he did and so sure while he did it, only to doubt himself so much after the fact … a workaholic in the true sense of the word. Never had she met anyone else who could work for so long and so concentrated without a thought for him self. All he cared about was making sure everyone else was safe.

She should know that about him now, and she did, though sometimes it was far from her thoughts. Should realize if push came to shove he would take the hit for any of them, willingly. She could not lose him now, could not bear to think that a day could come that he would not be beside her.

"I would miss you if you let that happen." She kept her voice soft so that it would not wake him. "It would hurt so much if you were not here to talk a case out with me. But if you ever, ever do anything like that again we are having words, Detective." She was smiling at the end of it. "So many words."

"'kay, if you say so." The voice was muffled by the pillow, but still surprised her enough to cause her to jump.

"Bobby? Are you awake?" She had thought he was asleep.

Bobby Goren tried to turn over so that he could face her and froze when the pain hit him… sharp stabbing, take your breath away pain.

She saw it. "Bobby?" She reached for him to help him, worry filling her.

"Be ok. Give me… a second." His eyelids were tightly scrunched up.

"Ok. What can I get you? Some water? Pain meds?" She could see the bottle sitting on his bedside cabinet.

"Can't, have any yet. Haf'ta eat." He sounded breathless now as well. He managed to move slowly onto his side, the covers falling away to show his battered chest and side.

"You haven't eaten?" She frowned at him.

"Too tired to cook," he admitted tiredly.

"I'll fix something for you. The hospital should have made sure someone was with you." She was not happy. To send him home alone and in pain without someone to care for him was to her eyes negligent to say the least.

"I was ok, just a little sore then." Bobby had finally managed to lie on his back and he saw her wince when she saw the bruises and lacerations that covered his body. _If you think this is bad, you should see my back._ It was the last thing that she needed to know.

"And now?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

He flushed, the heat on his face giving him back a little color. "Painful."

She nodded. "What would you like to eat and I'll make it for you," she promised him. He would be taking the meds though, before she left.

"Just some soup, something warm." He tried to sit up, wincing, and she stopped in the doorway.

"Where are you going?" She could not believe that he would be stubborn enough to try to get out of bed, not in the amount of pain he was obviously in.

"To help you." It was obvious to him.

"I don't think so, Bobby." She crossed her arms, amused at him now.

"Why? I need to move." He was aware that the longer he stayed in bed not moving the stiffer he was going to get. "Besides, there is work I need to do before Monday."

"Ok, don't say that I didn't try to warn you." Her laughter made him pause as he tried to move.

"Warn me about what?" He paused uncertainly, realizing there had to be something wrong.

"The fact that if you move another inch you will be completely naked…" Her laughter floated through the door as he grabbed the covers and pulled them up to cover himself totally.

By the time she returned with piping hot chicken soup and toast he had managed to change into loose pants and a zip up sweat shirt that looked to be a least two sizes too big on his large frame. He did not look happy and she paused. _Where would he find clothes too big for him?_

"Bobby?" She watched him worriedly.

"That was not a nice thing to do." He looked at her with brown puppy dog eyes, and she had to wonder how he did that.

"No, I'm sorry, it wasn't. But do you really think you would have been happy if I had let you get up?" She watched him closely. He looked pale and pain lines creased his face once more.

"No not happy," he sighed. Just the small movements he had made so far hit him hard. He was just glad that Eames was all right and uninjured.

"You need to eat and take those pain meds."

"I know." He let her arrange the tray and hand him the spoon.

"What did the doctor say?" She could only smile at the smile he gave at the welcome warmth the food gave him.

"Hum?" He looked up and blinked at her, the old familiar look as memory swam to the surface. "Bruises, contusions. Lacerations. Couple of pulled muscles…" _Cracked ribs, bump to the head… did he say MILD concussion?_

"So not much then?"

"Funny, Eames, very funny." He waved the spoon at her. "He said I would be sore." He shrugged that off. He had been hurt far worse than this and without a doubt would be again in the future. It was the nature of the beast, the way of the land in this universe.

"There is pain and there is pain, Bobby. Stop putting on a brave face. I know it hurts, it has to; you took the force of the blast. It would be a miracle if you didn't hurt." Eames was frowning at him.

"I wasn't thinking at the time," was the sheepish reply.

She could hear the truth in that. All he had cared about at the time was keeping her from being hurt. He acted on pure instinct. Nothing more and nothing less. Simple and endlessly complicated.

"Well try harder to think next time! I don't think that my heart can take much more of this if you don't." The fear was lying just below the surface of her calm exterior. For a few interminably long moments she had thought he had been killed by the force of the blast.

"I'm sorry Eames." It was soft and hesitant. "I didn't mean to… ever." He waved the spoon in a circle.

"Bobby?" She could see that he felt awkward and unsure. It was coming off him in waves. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

He would not meet her eyes, unsure of what to say. "It's okay. I just need to think about how to tell you." There was that uncertain, shy but utterly gorgeous half smile that made her think there was a chance for them. It would never be like it was, there would always be that dividing line. It had been like that once before, and they'd survived, they had been able to rebuild trust. They could do it again.

"Ok, I can wait. It's not as if I am going anywhere or have anything planned, just home and getting some supper, maybe a few TV shows to relax with before bed." Eames told him easily.

"Oh, good." How to put that he felt awkward because he had not had anyone to care for him in such a long time that he no longer knew how to react when someone tried to do that for him? It just felt odd.

As if reading his mind, "Bobby, with you everything is odd," she teased him gently. "I do understand, though, what you are trying to say and I am sorry that there is nothing I can do to help you through this."

"Thank you." He blinked at that. _But you do help, everyday._

"You know that you are welcome, Bobby. I know that you would do it for me." It was the simple truth and she watched as he finished the soup and toast. "Feeling better?"

"Not hungry anymore," he admitted.

"Good, so you can take two of these and try to get some sleep. Do you want me to stay?" She loathed the thought that he would be on his own feeling this bad.

Bobby shook his head and took the tablets and washed them down with the water that she had brought for just that purpose.

"Thanks again, I'll be fine. A good night's sleep will help a lot." He smiled up at her.

"It's a good place to start." Eames said as she turned out the light and let herself out of the apartment. "For both of us."


End file.
